Love is lies. The world love’s not metaphors.
They, the screaming baby’s roaring fathers and
Howling mothers have no time to be lovers.
This isn’t beautiful, but neither is love.
The evening sky
Is blushing, seagulls crying their death, collapse on
The shimmering bikini clad woman and smash their beaks
With a spray of love, she welcomes them with wooden arms,
And yet she remains the poets golden boy
I know I love you, because I can’t make out
The colour of your hair. I still know what it is,
But beauty paves your way, as
Is moving away, you can’t hear me shout, you leave,
With me in doubt.